


Learn to Fly

by runicmagitek



Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: And Ti'zo is the best emotional support drive-imp, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Protest/Revolution, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Gen, Implied/Referenced discrimination, Loneliness, Mid-Canon, Post-Canon, Rhae had a hard life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28110072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runicmagitek/pseuds/runicmagitek
Summary: He never yearned for the Commonwealth; it was liberation—trueliberation—a freedom one claimed without wings. Or so said the Saint known as Triesta Tithis.Rhae told him as such.Ti'zo arrives in the Commonwealth, the first of the Nightwings to earn liberation, and finds himself alone in a foreign land. When a friendly face eventually joins him, he realizes they were never welcomed in the Commonwealth.But if the Plan succeeds, maybe they can pave a new life together, one where they - or anyone - can be free.
Relationships: Ti'zo & Vagabond Girl
Comments: 16
Kudos: 11
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dee_Moyza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee_Moyza/gifts).



> I wanted to include the events of Volfred's Plan due to mentions of the Vagabond Girl's role in its success. I also wished to stay true to the tone and themes of Pyre. However, while this fic aligns with the events mentioned in canon, said events and general themes of Pyre hit _mighty close_ to home in light of the chaos that is 2020. I have broken this fic into chapters so that if anyone reading wishes to skip details of a protest, you may skip chapter 2. The protest follows the canon events of Volfred's Plan being at 100%, where no violence occurs and the Commonwealth is dismantled peacefully.

He dreamed of the Commonwealth as often as he hungered for fish. The stories each exile shared—from the original Nightwings to the recent recruits—flourished and thrived. They spoke of clustered markets, rich cuisines, and other luxuries absent in the Downside. With every mention of the simple lives they lost, Ti’zo imagined experiencing it himself. Maybe not forever, but mere seconds sufficed.

Such thoughts didn’t stir as they initially reached the Fall of Soliam, where the Reader turned their gaze upon the drive-imp as the Nightwings’ anointed one. Even when he extinguished the Temper’s pyre and the Shimmer-Pool materialized, the thought of native fish above or the new scents and sights or anything fell numb. Bathed in white and gold raiment, he glanced at the exiles he traveled with, laughed with, performed the Rites with.

They agreed he was the first to go, yet for all the revelry and ideation, Ti’zo never fathomed experiencing the Commonwealth alone.

A blinding light enveloped him before he said all he wished to say. Warmth washed over him as he tumbled skywards. Upon finding his footing, Ti’zo blinked and gazed upon the place he imagined was the Commonwealth.

Little prepared him for the thick crowd that amassed. Wide eyes and smiling faces regarded him. A drive-imp in the Commonwealth—how magnificent! They smothered him with sugary words and provided trinkets beyond his comprehension: beads, jewels, silks, spices, wines, and more. Even if he comprehended what they offered, Ti’zo lacked the time to appreciate every item—and for all the years he lived, he was quite young for a drive-imp.

He never basked in the sights he dreamed of, instead zipping past the gawking folk to find solace. The sun rose and fell and Ti’zo continued his valiant search. Strangers gasped in his direction. Children laughed and chased him, trying to pet his plush fur. Fishermen swatted him from their docks. Few bothered him in the shadows of abandoned buildings, but even the insects vacated their dusty corners when a certain drive-imp settled in for the night.

Ti’zo almost forgot his purpose in liberation. Somewhere within the narrow, vibrant streets were the agents Volfred spoke of—the very people carrying out his Plan. How he was to locate such revolutionaries eluded Ti’zo; even if others understood his squeaks and chirps, speaking against the Commonwealth was sure to land him back in the Downside. But his struggles dissipated as he lingered on the subtleties others were oblivious to. It was in the silence while groups cackled over a recent exile’s sentence. It was in the unsavory glances when military patrols marched by. It was in the heavy sighs once vocal supporters of the Commonwealth vacated. The attentive eyes, the tight smiles, the hushed words—Ti’zo honed onto the folk as if they were a massive fish wriggling in the Sea of Solis.

And when he found the opportunity to swoop in—somewhere between the peak bustle of the marketplace and the forgotten alleys covered in invisible graffiti activated by lit matches—the robed figures turned to him and smiled.

“There you are,” one of the Nomads spoke. “You must be Ti’zo, yes?”

Whatever courage he brought to the Commonwealth faded, only to be reignited by those simple words. Ti’zo grinned and puffed up his chest.

“Kri-kiri-kraahii!”

After sharing a quick meal of pickled fish and warmed milk, Ti’zo followed Volfred’s agents. Packed streets opened. The mammoth, stone and stucco architecture shrank, then crumbled. He ventured with his new allies, far from the heart of the Commonwealth and to the ruins resembling a forgotten campfire. Ashes stained the desolate remains of the Spiral Sanctum. What was once a warning to the people—to favor ignorant obedience instead of challenging traditions—now sheltered those complicit in the Plan.

No one fawned over or gawked at Ti’zo. They offered him a seat, no different from their revolutionary brethren. What conversations transpired reminded him of life on the blackwagon and the treks between Rites and the stories they shared to pass the time and forget their troubles. Ti’zo caught himself amidst his reverie; imagining life in the Commonwealth yielded oh-so easily to nostalgia.

Ti’zo looked to the stars while others chuckled around a meager fire. Embers sprung free from the flames and drifted above, as if to join the stars before fading. The skies were different somehow in comparison to the Downside’s night view. Or maybe it wasn’t, for memories aged with the hue of desert roses. The realization struck him amidst his stargazing. He never yearned for the Commonwealth; it was liberation— _true_ liberation—a freedom one claimed without wings. Or so said the Saint known as Triesta Tithis.

Rhae told him as such.

He remembered her—remembered how she laughed when he licked her bowl clean from every meal, how she lit up when he emerged from rivers with his fangs deep in a fish, how she rattled off bedtime stories gifted from the Scribes while he slept in her hair.

He remembered she donned her ceremonial raiment for the Liberation Rite and vaulted over demons to sink the Celestial Orb into the Temper’s pyre. He remembered when she unfastened her mask to watch as he approached the Shimmer-Pool.

He remembered looking back and how she both smiled and cried.

How was she faring now? Did she and the others continue in the Rites? Would Rhae be chosen for liberation? Did she _want_ to return to the Commonwealth?

Did she miss her little drive-imp friend?

The uncertainty overwhelmed Ti’zo as tears swelled in his eyes. He trembled and quietly wept until someone noticed. Several swooped in to console him, for whatever roused the tears nestled deep into Ti’zo’s heart. While no one understood his lonely chirps, at least they empathized with what he lost.

The tears dried come morning, yet every night spent alone brought the reminder of Rhae and her carefree charm and whimsical intuition. Stargazing, after all, was not the same without her.

Moons cycled and whispers of a revolution crept across the Commonwealth. Time eluded Ti’zo; how long since he left the Downside and emerged from the Shimmer-Pool? And how much longer until someone else joined forces to aid in Volfred’s Plan? He had his suspicions. Perhaps Jodariel with her military knowledge. Or Rukey and his network, all harboring a reason to stand against the Commonwealth. Or Hedwyn, if only to supply fresh meals after an exhausting day of scouting.

Little prepared Ti’zo for the new member arriving at the Spiral Sanctum. A short, scrawny silhouette blocked out the harsh sun bathing the world in a saffron hue. But as the shadows gave way to the frizzy poof of hair and wide, curious eyes, Ti’zo sprang forth with a grin.

“Scraahaa! Skree-kri-hee!”

The straight line of Rhae’s lips blossomed into a toothy smile before he collided with her. “Ti’zo! It’s you! It really is you!” She held him in a tender embrace. “I knew we would meet again. The Scribes said we would, of course, but you made it. We both did!”

Ti’zo nuzzled into the crook of her neck and purred. “Hreee-hoo-kraaki.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I am so sorry.” Rhae squeezed him for emphasis. “I never meant for you to worry. Or anyone, I think. But the Scribes, you must believe in them. You must! All will be well. You’re here. And I’m here. Yes, I think this is what they want.”

“Hrrooohh… krereh?”

Her laughter filled the air and Ti’zo teared up; it felt like ages since he last heard that delightful sound. “You’re my friend. Of course it’s what I want. Knowing you were up here… yes, I knew I would be alright. I had a friend waiting for me. The Scribes reminded me, but I didn’t forget. How could I forget you?”

* * *

Smoldering wood struggled against the night’s chill. A breeze picked up and the embers glowed, stolen and swept elsewhere. Volfred’s agents huddled together for warmth and slept soundly beneath the starry skies. Exhaustion had yet to claim Ti’zo or Rhae; the exhilaration in their reunion burned bright.

Together, they sat on a lofty perch: the foundations of a desolate building. Rhae sat unflinching with every gust of cold wind, red eyes glued to the glittering skies. As for Ti’zo, he wiggled into her hands splayed across her lap and delighted in her company, even in silence.

“I never thought I’d see it again,” she told him. “The sky, the stars! Oh, I took for granted all those nights spent stargazing. I did, I did! It was the same in the Downside, I think, except when it wasn’t. But now I see. I see the glory that the Scribes once witnessed. They say it is glory. It must be!”

Ti’zo tilted his head. “Hreehee-scra-heeee!” A sadness marked his gaze while he nuzzled into Rhae. “Scra-ki-ri.”

“Oh, Ti’zo.” She lifted him and nuzzled her face into his. “I’m glad to share this with you. Not just the skies, I think. No, so much more. There is a great deal for us to share together. Yes, we must. We must believe so! The Scribes believe it.” Her eyes flicked above. “I can’t read the stars like our Reader, but, I think, you can still feel what they intend for us. Can you feel it, too? Can you? It is warm and it is tingly and it is beautiful.”

“Hroo-hyrooom… skra-KRI! Hreehah-screee.”

Rhae jerked her head, laughter escaping her grinning lips. “That’s true! My heart hasn’t stopped racing since the Liberation Rite! The Reader—they picked _me_! I didn’t believe it. But the Scribes agreed! Everyone did.” She exhaled and her amusement died, yet a soft, content expression lingered on her features. “They’re believing in us to carry out this Plan. They are.”

The wind and distant chirps of nocturnal creatures broke the intermittent silence. Ti’zo focused on Rhae more than the stars; she cast her gaze, and perhaps her attention, elsewhere .

Scooting closer, Ti’zo nudged Rhae’s jaw and chirped. “Kooo-hoooo?”

Rhae sat up a little straighter, sucked in air, and found her voice. “I do not know? Maybe? I hope so. I’m alright with many things. I’m alright with helping Volfred’s Plan. Just as I am alright with our reunion.” She paused, long enough to riddle Ti’zo with concern. “I’m alright with returning here, I think. I don’t know. Everyone believes this is right—me returning to the Commonwealth. Even the Scribes say so. But the entire world, the Commonwealth and Downside combined, could tell me that and it doesn’t….” Rhae closed her eyes and tilted her head back. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“Hrooom?”

“I want… I want to wake up without worrying about how I live. Or… no, maybe that’s not right, either, I think.” Rhae furrowed her brow, as if listening to a faint echo. “I didn’t have anything to worry about when I returned.”

“Hreeek-haah?”

Her eyes opened, albeit glossy from whatever haunted her. “My sentence, the reason I was exiled—I was pardoned, like it never happened. Except it _did_ happen. It happened, indeed. And I have not changed, I think, not in the way people would want me to change. I am the same, the same as when they exiled me.

“But they gave me a family. A _family_! A home! Somewhere nice, far too nice, I think. There were silk sheets and rich desserts and warm baths. People waited on me, told me I didn’t need to help, but they weren’t family. No, I don’t think they were. The ones who were, or said they were, planned out my days, planned for my future. It was a good future, I think. I wasn’t on the streets, which is much better than before. Much better! They spoke with teachers and mentors, something about the path of an Astralist. I don’t know why they would do that or what there was to teach. I couldn’t sit still; I didn’t want to. Was I doing it wrong? Was _I_ wrong?”

Rhae sighed, exhaustion lacing her words as tears trickled down her pale cheeks. “I asked too many questions, I think. To my teachers, to my foster parents. I asked why no one showed me this kindness before my exile? I asked why couldn’t they do the same to many others like me still on the streets? I asked if we could invite them to our home. There were plenty of rooms and beds—so many! I lost myself all the time! But, I think, I lost myself the most when they had no answers to my questions.

“I realized that I felt more at home on the streets than in the place I was supposed to consider home. Oh, Miss Jodariel spoke of something like this, I think. She worried… that it wasn’t in my best interest to return. I didn’t understand, at first. I thought, maybe, she didn’t think I was fit to help. But… no, I see now. She was protecting me from hurting again, like when they dragged me off the streets to exile me.”

Ti’zo fluttered his wings and hovered before Rhae’s face. He cooed and purred, nuzzling into her until she chuckled. Even then, sadness colored her voice, but at least she spoke her truth.

“Oh, Ti’zo,” Rhae said, holding him to her damp cheek, “I wish I had known you before I was exiled. Yes, I think we would have been friends, as good as we are now. It wasn’t much, still isn’t, but I could be myself. And I still am myself. I should be! Knowing I can stay that way around you… my heart sings. It does! But knowing that the people who walked past me on those streets, who looked away and pretended I wasn’t there… they’re the ones who welcomed me, as if I always belonged. But I don’t belong to them. To no one! The Scribes guide me, speak to me—it is as much a part of me as the air we breathe. But they never hold me back. They tell me to believe and be free. Oh, to be free! I’d like that, very much so. Does that… make sense? I won my liberation and the Commonwealth excused my crimes, whatever they were, but am I free? I am the same as I always was, I think, so how is now any different?

“The Saint says we do not need wings to be free. I believe that. I do! But… how long must it take? How long until we learn to fly without wings? I think, maybe one day, whenever it may be, I’ll be able to do just that. And more!” Holding Ti’zo to her chest, Rhae fixed her glossy eyes to the stars. “I’ll soar, soar so much that I’ll forget why I ever bothered walking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You learn that she was taken in by a well-to-do foster family, and was to be given private schooling of the highest order in the Astralist tradition. They promised her that, in time, she might one day have the honor of teaching the children of the Commonwealth, herself. However, she soon went her own way, insisting that the Eight Scribes themselves were calling her. She started wandering again all on her own. That is until she located Volfred’s agents. Thus her wandering ceased, and the ranks of the revolution grow stronger." —a messenger-imp's report on Rhae after her liberation


	2. Chapter 2

Pamitha was the first to return since Rhae, much to Ti’zo surprise. The Nightwings’ suspicion hadn’t waned by Ti’zo’s Liberation Rite, yet he harbored no ill will towards Pamitha. Her kind was hated as much as Rhae. Harps were not innately vile creatures and the diversity in the revolution’s ranks didn’t hurt.

“It’s a shame you left as soon as you had,” Pamitha teased him within minutes of her arrival. “We caught a fish bigger than Jodi.”

Ti’zo gawked. “Scraah-krrii?!”

“But of course. Hedwyn did a fine job cooking it, as well.”

She winked and chuckled. Ti’zo’s expression fell flat, but he couldn’t resist laughing for long. At least she remembered his love for fish.

Then it was Bertrude, who Rhae barely remembered, yet Bertrude spoke of her as if they forged a bond before their exile.

“Thou art safe amongst Volfred’s agents,” she hissed with a smirk. “They should be grateful for a sorceress in their ranks.”

Rhae blinked. “A sorceress?”

“Ah, yes.” Extending a bony finger, Bertrude poked Rhae’s nose. “Wiser than most shall comprehend in a lifetime. We cherish thine presence and possibilities.”

Confusion swelled in Rhae, but Ti’zo smiled. In the years he knew Bertrude, he counted few instances when she acknowledged another’s competence, let alone expressed praise.

Sir Gilman followed—hard to miss with his boisterous, yet valiant words—and shortly after was the Sap behind the Plan. The campfire at Spiral Sanctum blazed the brightest the evening Volfred arrived, sharing sincere promises to those who gathered for the sake of change, of freedom. Ti’zo scanned the area, finding more than the agents who scouted the streets; a myriad of folk gathered, all with their reasons, and clung to the truths Volfred uttered.

With the Plan reaching its peak, the time to act neared. No longer would they wait moon after moon, just as Ti’zo had since his liberation, anxious for the addition of another familiar face. As they prepared to implement the Plan, Ti’zo paused. Since Rhae’s liberation, fewer moon cycles passed between their returns. Each said the same thing—no other Triumvirate won in the sacred Liberation Rite. Only the Nightwings.

If that was the case, weren’t they short several members?

Other thoughts, however, overpowered that single strand, plaguing Ti’zo’s mind until it deprived him of sleep. Plenty tossed and turned the eve of the Plan’s execution. How could they not? Change loomed in the morning winds—for better or for worse.

His tiny heart fluttered as he stared at the stars, nestled in the nook of Rhae’s neck. She jolted awake as often as Ti’zo, only to sigh, shift, and resume whatever semblance of rest there was to savor. His pulse raced as the sun rose and brought with it a day of action, where he and countless others marched to the center of the Commonwealth.

Citizens peered from their windows. Some emerged from the safety of their homes to join them. Ti’zo peered back every other block; the crowd doubled in size each time. Once they arrived at their destination, their numbers dared to touch the horizon.

Guards blockaded the so-called sacred building every Archjustice resided within. Lavish gems encrusted the mammoth doors, shut and locked. A quarter of the Commonwealth could fill the interior, yet only those marked for exile passed the doors.

Not anymore, if Volfred’s Plan succeeded.

The wall of silent, armored soldiers didn’t blink until the people unearthed small torches and lit them. A commander barked orders and the rest complied. They brandished spears and lifted their shields. All the while, flames flickered to life throughout the masses, like the stars glimmering at night.

That was the point, in a way. A symbol of the stars, the Scribes who guided them. A symbol of the pyres that persisted and brought back the exiles who protected them. A symbol of hatred—of burning knowledge, of the truth—repurposed into a beacon of hope for those the Commonwealth scorned.

“Stand down!” a commander screamed.

“We will not bend,” Volfred replied, his voice carrying to the heavens, yet soft nonetheless, “and we will never break.”

“I said stand down!”

“The people of the Commonwealth do not deserve to live in fear; they deserve freedom. _True_ freedom. Freedom from—”

“This is your final warning!” Spittle flew from the commander’s mouth. His face tensed and reddened, though the white-knuckled hand gripping his spear trembled. “Stand down!”

But people gradually enveloped the circular steps leading to the heart of the Commonwealth. They carried their flames and echoed Volfred’s words, some elaborating on the fear they accepted in daily life. Others expressed the freedom they longed for—to live with love, to live without suffering, to live side-by-side despite their differences, to live without being punished for existing. The cacophony buzzed in the air, daring to choke Ti’zo.

Neither side yielded. Flames teased sharpened metal. Perched on Volfred’s shoulder, Ti’zo slumped and whimpered. The Plan—what if it didn’t work? What if it was all for nothing?

Whispers skittered across the air. As voices drew closer, Ti’zo scouted for the origin.

“What’s that?”

“Look! Up there!”

Ti’zo flicked his eyes skywards, following the direction several fingers pointed at. He didn’t expect to find Rhae climbing the flagpole with relative ease.

His jaw dropped and eyes widened. “Krrr-HREEEK!”

Before Volfred uttered a word, Ti’zo took flight. He closed the distance between them while she inched higher, until she reached the billowing flag bearing the mark of the Commonwealth: the same cluster of stars every exile cherished in the Downside. Eyes from below settled on Rhae; she situated herself on her lofty perch, thighs clinging to the metal while brandishing her torch with a free hand.

“Don’t stand down!” she boomed while Ti’zo circled overhead. “You mustn’t! No, you simply cannot! It is not the will of the Scribes—none of this is! The Scribes, they are kind. I know, for I have heard them. They speak to me, to all of us! You need only to listen and they shall speak. They did not cast themselves into exile for us to follow; it was to liberate us, to protect us from the downfalls they endured. They know! Truly, they know! Why else would they guide exile after exile back to freedom? Why would they allow it?”

Rhae pointed her torch at the building. “Those who do not listen to the Scribes— _they_ have done this! They have ignored the stars, ignored the generations before them, ignored _us_. And for what? I know why and, I think, they do, as well. They do not value freedom— _true_ freedom! They value luxury that accompanies fear and power and hate! They cast aside those they never bother to understand. They do it in the name of… of what? For the sake of the Commonwealth? But who are they protecting? It is themselves, I think. Not us. No, never us.

“I know because they stripped me from the streets—my home, for what it’s worth—and threw me away.”

Ti’zo held his breath and glided to her shoulder as tears flowed from Rhae’s unblinking eyes.

“Why?!” Rhae screamed, a slight crack in her voice. “Why throw me away? Was I harming others? Was I waging war? Was I stealing and pillaging? Was I? Or was I merely a stain on the Commonwealth? Was it easier to cast me down like a pest? Was it? Even then, why?! I have been true to myself, I think. I was happy, even when others belittled me. Was that all it took? For me to exist?! If so, then why welcome me with open arms when I was liberated? Why introduce me to a prestigious home as my new family? Why did it take years as an exile to come to that? Why couldn’t you have done that in the first place? If I needed a home, needed to be off the streets, then why didn’t you help me?! Why was it easier to show hate instead of kindness?!

“But… but I cannot be angry. No, I cannot. For the Scribes, they have shown me kindness and patience and love. I know, I know I hear them! They chose me to be liberated. They wanted me to! I did not know why; I never wished to return here, for I am not welcomed here. I am not _free_ here. But neither is anyone else. So long as the powers that be reign over the Commonwealth, none of us are free. And yet the Scribes _long_ for us to be free; they sacrificed so much for us! So much! Do you refuse to listen to them? They wish for your freedom, too! They do!

“And now I know why the Scribes wanted me to return, I think. I have nothing to lose, not since I was born. You ask me to stand down?” Rhae scoffed, despite the tears. “What will you do? Toss me back to the Downside? That is a kinder fate than the life I have lived up here. So no, I will not stand down. Not now, not ever. I will rise, rise until I soar. I will learn to fly without wings. You will never touch me—never again! The Scribes believe it and so should you all! It is their will and it is my plea. For our freedom and future, cast yourselves down!”

Rhae’s final words echoed—first on the wind, then on the tongues of their allies. Ti’zo peered below; several people raised their torches and spoke.

“Cast yourselves down!”

With every cry, another joined. Then a second, a third, multiplying in a gradual wave with Rhae as its epicenter.

“Cast yourselves down!”

Voices flooded the Commonwealth, then settled into natural unison—into a chant.

“Cast yourselves down! Cast yourselves down!”

Their exile kin from the Nightwings brandished their torches and added their voices. A chill gripped Ti’zo as the vibrations of the crowd lived everywhere, refusing to die.

He brought his awe-stricken gaze to Rhae. Fresh tears cascaded down her face and spilled from her jaw. But she smiled, brighter than the stars ever dared.

And she smiled before shouting, “Cast yourselves down!”

“Skriki-kraa-haawwk!” He flew again, his wings matching the flutter in his heart. “Skriki-kraa-haawwk!”

The guards exchanged conflicted looks. Their spears and shields trembled. Then one lowered his weapon, knelt, and bowed his head. Like the tides retreating from the shore, each soldier surrendered.

The people of the Commonwealth walked past the broken blockade and approached the doors. No trampling, no pounding, nothing. Their chants rose to the highest chambers, where Ti’zo swore he spied multiple windows open and terrified people stared at the thousands upon thousands demanding justice.

Once the doors parted, Rhae snatched the Commonwealth flag in her free hand and slid down, tearing it in her descent. The ripped fabric floated and fell, where people trampled the remains without hesitation.

“A fine speech, my dear,” Pamitha said, awaiting Rhae at the bottom. “You even moved me to tears!”

Rhae sniffled and dried her own eyes. “Oh no, you mustn’t cry!”

With a feathery limb, she banished the last of Rhae’s tears. “Neither should you.”

“Dost thou not hear the voices of the people, child?” Bertrude gestured to the swarm of folk marching up the steps to the enormous entrance, each one repeating the words Rhae uttered not long ago. “From the heart, thou speaketh. More than the Archjustice can claim.”

“Come, now.” Pamitha nudged Rhae as Ti’zo settled on her shoulder. “Let us finish this Plan.”

Together they scaled the pristine, marble steps. Together they entered the tremendous foyer with ceilings as tall as the Titans’ corpses. Together they surrounded the self-proclaimed rulers of the Commonwealth, each cowering before the endless crowd.

With the power of their voices and presence alone, they brought those who chained the masses to their knees, where they discarded their influence, authority, and impunity.

Chants morphed into cheers. They did it. The Plan _worked_ , all without drawing blood or raising weapons, just as Volfred hoped. No one needed to live in fear anymore. The next dawn promised a new era—an era of peace and freedom, of ending the hateful cycle.

Throughout the revelry, however, Rhae’s smile faded and her brows tented. Ti’zo noticed first when she strayed from the celebration and emerged onto the empty steps. He swooped in and nudged her cheek, yet she barely registered his tender concern.

“Hrii?” Ti’zo fluttered from side-to-side, though her empty eyes stared through him. “Hreeeh-kroo?”

Eventually, she cupped her hands for him to land in. She held Ti’zo to her chest, where her heart raced.

“Where are they?” Rhae murmured

“Kraah?”

Rhae squeezed Ti’zo. “Hedwyn, Rukey.” She paused. “Miss Jodariel.”

Ti’zo hitched his breath, froze, then averted his gaze. Once Volfred and the others found them, Rhae fell to her knees and cried for the lives snuffed out along with the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The Commonwealth had never provided a sense of home for the one they had called Rhae the Wretched, so she was surprised, on her return, that she was so well-treated. She felt uneasy about it, and, besides, she knew that she would do her best to fulfill the pledge she had made to her friends. Even she could not have expected the impact she would have on the events that followed, which gave rise to our Sahrian Union. Despite not fitting the image of any of the Eight Scribes, Rhae nonetheless stood out alongside the others, amid the teeming masses on the night of Scribes’ Return. She spoke of the Scribes with such conviction and sincerity, that the crowd was very moved." —from Rhae's liberation ending


	3. Chapter 3

Brilliant sunlight glittered in the ocean. Salt marked the air full of the echoes of songbirds, laughing children, and market criers. The wooden docks welcomed ships from long voyages, stuffed with various fish to grace market stands and restaurants alike.

As for Ti’zo, he gazed at a particular titan tuna on display, triple the size of every other fish.

“Hreeeh-haaah?” He flapped his wings until the merchant paid attention. “Scree-ee-ki!”

The woman smiled under the colorful canopy’s shade. “Ti’zo! Back again? That’s the fourth time this week.”

Ti’zo puffed up his chest. “Skree-hee-HAAH!”

She chuckled. “And if I keep passing off freebies to you, I won’t have much to sell.”

“Kri-hoom.”

“Word of mouth only does so much,” she teased while shucking clams for a customer. “I need to put food on the table myself, you know.”

Ti’zo heaved out a breath, eyes still settled on the massive fish.

“You like that one?” she asked upon completing the transaction.

The question rejuvenated Ti’zo as he stood straighter and grinned. “Screeee!”

“Would you know what to do with something that size? Can you even _carry_ it home?”

“Hraa-krii-rrii!”

She bellowed with laughter. “Ah, you’re hard to say no to.” Removing the titan tuna from its bed of ice, she secured a sheet of newsprint to wrap it. The headline dated from last week’s reports, marking the celebratory fifth anniversary of Scribes’ Return. “Tell you what: if you can swing a sweet deal with those messenger-imps to deliver my catches to the other side of the Sahrian Union, I won’t add this big boy to your tab.”

Ti’zo nearly fell from the counter. “Skree-hee-HRAAHHAA!”

“Well, they might not be the fastest courier service, but they can fly, which opens quite a deal of restaurants to sell to.”

“Krakii!” Taking flight, Ti’zo circled the merchant to express his glee. “Scraawwk!”

Before she responded, Ti’zo zipped out of the stand, past the eclectic vendors, and into the open air. Few paid attention to the vibrant blur above; the people of the Sahrian Union relished life, from the boutiques to the libraries to the theaters. Nestled within winding paths was the primary courier hub, home to every professional messenger-imp. While people filed out the door to request services at the front desk, Ti’zo maneuvered through the loading docks and mountains of parcels and envelopes until he reached a prestigious office.

Ti’zo landed, ruffled his wings, and beamed. “Kri-kiki!”

A single head popped out over a stack of paperwork. The messenger-imp’s wide eyes regarded Ti’zo. “Hreeek? Hraah-nahh-nahh!”

“Hrii-hoo-kri-hi!”

The messenger-imp rolled its eyes and ducked behind its paperwork. “Graawwk! Kraa-haah.”

Ti’zo squinted and huffed. “Krrooo… kreh-kraa-hreeawk?”

Once more, the messenger-imp’s head popped into view. “Kraa-hreeAWK?”

“Skra-kri! Screaayaaah! Kri-kirkirki!” Ti’zo flashed a smug grin. “Krahiri-heee—”

“Skree-hee!”

A dozen more messenger-imps poked out from drawers and cubby holes to chime in, “Skree-hee!”

Ti’zo flapped his wings with excitement. “Hrah-HAAH!”

Together with a small swarm of messenger-imps, Ti’zo flew out of the office and retraced his path. Before leaving, however, a messenger-imp from the sorting stations growled and bounced until it caught Ti’zo’s attention. He swooped down, just in time for the messenger-imp to reveal a parchment scroll. Ti’zo gasped lightly; he recognized the azure wax sealing the letter in the messenger-imp’s mouth.

“Kreeh-hreeh?” the messenger-imp asked, albeit muffled.

“Scree-haa!” Ti’zo replied, already leaning in for the messenger-imp to secure the scroll into his collar. “Krrii-hi-kee.”

The messenger-imp released a snort—the humanoid equivalent to a sigh of relief. “Hroo-kri-haahk!”

Again Ti’zo flew with his kin, discussing the logistics of carrying and splitting the titan tuna—as payment, as promised—along with a new contract with the fishing industry. The team leader gleefully complied; messenger-imps always accepted food as payment. How the couriers managed as long as they did in the Sahrian Union _without_ striking a bargain with the fishing industry both perplexed and amused Ti’zo.

The titan tuna hadn’t moved an inch since Ti’zo departed. He landed on the wooden counter, chirping and bouncing to show the messenger-imps the wrapped package. Each one crowded around Ti’zo and gazed upon it. They cooed in unison, enamored with the sheer size alone.

As for the merchant, she finished a sale of three lobsters before noticing the audience. “Well now! What do we have here?” She smirked and perched a hand on her hip, flicking her eyes to Ti’zo. “You don’t mess around, do you?”

Ti’zo snickered. “Hree-hee-kiii!”

“Then let’s get you little fellas situated.”

She tied twine around the wrapped fish—a single piece for each messenger-imp to grip mid-flight. All the while, Ti’zo served as translator between the merchant and lead messenger-imp for their long-term services; fundamental conversations with customers were one matter, but contractual agreements were a nuanced, linguistic feat. By the time each strand of twine was secured, all parties smiled, content with their end of the bargain, Ti’zo included; he couldn’t slack in his interpreter duties Volfred graciously bestowed him.

“I’ll see you all tomorrow morning, then,” the merchant announced, divvying anchovies as a down payment for the present messenger-imps. “Thanks again!”

Each one chirped with approval, albeit muffled while gobbling up their treats. Painstakingly—complete with grunts and twitching eyes—the messenger-imps and titan tuna took flight, drifting in the direction of Ti’zo’s roost, one of the tallest towers in the Sahrian Union. As for Ti’zo, he didn’t follow. Not yet.

He had a detour before returning home.

* * *

Closer to the heart of the Sahrian Union was a monastery. Simple, yet vibrant mosaic tiles flooded the floors, mimicking the myriad stars at night. Glass domed ceilings loomed over multiple stories. A quaint building, despite its massive size. Few remembered it as the home of the Archjustice and his minions; the gems and precious metals encrusted in the architecture were stripped and redistributed to the people, then replaced with conventional materials from budding artisans. They reclaimed the building, much like everything else the Commonwealth once coveted.

And instead of banishing exiles, people gathered now to better understand the Scribes, speak with them, perhaps even hear them, if they were lucky.

Dusk’s harsh golden rays spilled inside when Ti’zo swooped through the entrance. The double doors previously securing the premise no longer stood on its hinges; a single, open archway remained, welcoming the public. Murmurs and footsteps echoed in the spacious interior. People lounged on the first floor, either in relaxation or contemplation. On the second floor, people perused the ever-expanding libraries, some learning to read for the first time under wise Readers who stepped out of hiding in recent years.

It was the third floor, however, where the private quarters resided. Those interested in deepening their enlightenment, whether through art or music or storytelling or performance, scheduled time with the Eighth Word’s prolific scholars and disciples. Ti’zo peered into each room, unable to find what he sought.

Then laughter swelled from the final room and Ti’zo smiled.

Children sat on cushions and circled their teacher. They also laughed, engrossed in whatever story she wove. Outside stood parents and guardians, watching with comfortable fondness. Ti’zo joined those waiting and perched on the banister overlooking the grand foyer. Instead of marveling the frescos depicting the Scribes’ Return or the distant lyre paying homage to a certain minstrel, Ti’zo gazed into the classroom in its final minutes.

He gazed at the saint everyone called Rhae the Radiant.

Long gone was her unkempt attire from her exile days, yet she donned simple white robes, accented with gold thread and pins. The impeccable draping flowed with her every movement as she swept her arms overhead to recount the tales of a fallen titan. Golden clips fashioned as stars adorned her hair instead of sticks and leaves. And nothing more. No shoes, no cloaks, no gloves, no cosmetics. Only her true self shined, the one the people remembered from the Scribes’ Return and gained the attention of the Eighth Word. She spoke and her words lifted herself and those who listened.

“That’s it!” Rhae clapped her hands. “That’s it for today!” When the children whined, Rhae bent at the hip and smiled. “There will be more tomorrow. There will. I know it! I will share it all tomorrow!”

As each child bid farewell to the saint, the adults surrounding Ti’zo stirred and murmured—how fortunate they were to have a kind and supportive young lady to teach the next generation. Giggling kids bounced out, some pausing to gasp and point at Ti’zo. He nervously chuckled and lost an inch of height; how long until people grew accustomed to the presence of a drive-imp? He complied, though, and swooped in to greet the curious children.

“I’ve never seen one up close!” a child exclaimed.

“Saint Rhae says there are a bajillion drive-imps in the Downside!” another added.

“One of the Scribes is an imp! Did you know that?”

“He must be the one who’s with the Prime Minister all the time!”

“Mommy, can I pet him? He looks so soft!”

The mother paled with embarrassment at the request. Ti’zo failed to stifle a laugh and closed the distance to nudge the child’s hand. He was met with giggles and a gentle stroke along his head.

“He _is_ soft!”

Several other children took turns petting Ti’zo until their guardians ushered them away. Where they went—to home for dinner or elsewhere for evening entertainment—was unknown to Ti’zo, but he stayed, lingering in the archway leading to the classroom, to Rhae.

He froze there and stared; as the children’s voices died out, all that remained was Rhae’s, like the first songbird at dawn.

“Miss Jodariel?” she said, back to the archway and arms opened wide. “Was that alright? Do you think it was?” Rhae tilted her head and sighed. “Yes, I think it was alright. There are more children, more than before. And all kinds! This Harp girl—her feathers are just molting—goes home with a Nomad. What a joy to see! It is good, yes, to encourage this diversity, this compassion.” She fell silent briefly, then nodded. “Yes, the Scribes wanted this. They were diverse, after all.

“But—” Her arms dropped in height and her shoulders slumped. “—I remember you were not happy with Pamitha or her kin. I do not know if you were still unhappy when I left. Maybe, I think, it was okay in the end? Not just working with Pamitha, but… everything?” Inhaling deeply, her tiny form trembled. “I remember what you told me, not long before I left. You said I was brave, for enduring, for surviving. I did what I must. I did! And you said… you said I experienced more than most soldiers you knew. I didn’t understand if you meant, maybe, I would make a good soldier? No, I don’t think the Scribes would want that. I wouldn’t want that now, either. For me or anyone.

“The children, the ones who come here for lessons… they make me think of you. I believe you mentioned the children you looked after. Was it the same? Is it… is it alright that they haven’t experienced as much as I have or your soldiers or anyone? Is it not enough that they never face what we once faced?”

Her head lolled, eyes closed. Orange hues washed over Rhae, almost setting her aflame.

“Hmm.” She nodded. “Mmm, yes… yes, I think I understand now. It is more than alright. The Scribes are happy that _we_ are happy—the children, their families, the people, everyone. This is what they want. Perhaps one day, no one will remember the horrors of the Commonwealth, save for what is written in history texts. Until then, we can show empathy and compassion, we can share stories and knowledge. We can do better. We will. I know we will!”

A soft, content sigh escaped her. Rhae lowered her head and clasped her hands together—out of reverence, perhaps, or maybe it was gratitude. “Thank you, Miss Jodariel. I feel better, now.”

Silence settled into the space. Ti’zo waited for her to turn or do anything, yet she yielded to quiet stillness. Swallowing hard, he fluttered in and chirped.

“Hreeeh?”

She perked up, blinking and pivoting to him. Her blank expression shifted to a massive grin—even her eyes smiled.

“Ti’zo! Oh, I thought it was you! I did!” She opened her arms and Ti’zo didn’t hesitate to swoop in for a tight embrace. “The Scribes knew you’d come! It has been a while, hasn’t it? But I think now is a good time.”

“Krriii! Krereh-hoom.”

“You could never intrude! One day, maybe, you could visit, I think? The children would love more stories from the Downside, of the Scribes! Yes, they would love it!”

Ti’zo averted his gaze, glad his fur covered any signs of blush. “Hrrooohh… keh-haah-rrii.”

“But you tell the best stories! You always make me laugh. You do, you do!”

How could he say no to that beaming face? “Skri-ki-yaah!”

“Oh, thank you, Ti’zo! Thank you!” Rhae leaned in to kiss the top of his head, only to pause when the butt of a rolled-up scroll poked her cheek. “What do you have here?”

Ti’zo’s eyes lit up; he almost forgot the message. “Scraaaahh-HAAH!” He puffed up and turned to have the parchment face Rhae. “Skree-ha-kiii.”

“A favor?” Rhae sat on a pillow, placed Ti’zo in her lap, and carefully retrieved the scroll from his collar. “Do the messenger-imps not come this way anymore?”

“Kraa…hree-hoo.”

“But you know I _like_ stories!”

Ti’zo drew in a deep breath. “Skri-ki-scree-EEE! Hraa-hooom-kreh-hiii!”

“You? Want fish?” Rhae laughed. “All the Sahrian Union knows that! Even the Scribes know! They do!”

“Kraa-kiruru-kri-heek!” Ti’zo extended his wings and stretched as far as he could for emphasis. “Kri-HEEK!”

Rhae tilted her head, more intrigued than confused. “If you did get it, how would you bring it home?”

“Scra-haawwk!”

“Oh!” She clapped her hands together. “They helped you transport the tuna and you helped them deliver this letter to me?”

Ti’zo tilted his chin up, basking in the fleeting pride. “Screee!”

“How wonderful! That kind of teamwork? It is what the Scribes wanted. Yes, I think it is! And I get to see you, too. What a gift! I cannot thank you enough, Ti’zo. I—”

Her red eyes fell on the scroll. Ti’zo whimpered; it was only a matter of time before she noticed the symbol within the wax. Recognized it, even. He fluttered to her shoulder and nuzzled into her neck.

And glimpsed at the distinctive emblem of the Nightwings.

Rhae carefully picked the edges until the wax broke free. The parchment unraveled in her hands. Black ink adorned the surface; not as pristine and meticulous as Volfred’s penmanship, but legible. Well, perhaps more legible to Rhae than Ti’zo. He only recently picked up written words, thanks to Volfred, who insisted an interpreter of his caliber also accommodate for scripts and texts. At the rate literacy boomed in the Sahrian Union, the designation of Reader would soon be commonplace.

Rhae understood the words now, almost as well as the voices of the Scribes.

Slowly, she scanned the letter. Fingers curled ever-so-slightly into the parchment. Tears swelled in her eyes.

Ti’zo glanced between her and the written page. “Kooo-kreh?”

“I… I believe so.” The corners of her lips curled up as tears rolled down her face. “Yes, everything is alright. More than alright. Even the Scribes are delightfully surprised by this outcome.”

“Hreee?”

Rhae hugged the letter to her chest. “Miss Jodariel… she learned to write just to send me a letter.”

Ti’zo jerked back with a gasp. “Skri-kii?”

“She did.”

“Krrr-rrii?!”

“Does it matter? The Reader, maybe they survived in the Downside and taught what they knew. Or perhaps the old members of the Commonwealth, who exiled themselves because it was all they knew, traded their knowledge for bare necessities. I do not know. No, I do not. What I know is that Miss Jodariel? The past several years… she struggled and tried and _learned_ , just to tell me—” Rhae hiccupped and brought up a loose fist to dry her tears. All the while, her smile shone bright. “Just to tell me she heard of what I’ve done and… how proud of me she was. Of winning my Liberation Rite. Of my role during the Scribes’ Return. Of the Eighth Word welcoming me without question. Of my transformation into a saint.

“Oh, Ti’zo, I wish she were here. I wish she had made it, like the rest of us. She wouldn’t need to write me a letter—not when she could visit and tell me in person! I would love that. I absolutely would! And I miss her and I know she feels the same way, but, I think, this is what the Scribes want.” She closed her eyes and paused, almost long enough to worry Ti’zo. “This is what _she_ wanted. I think… yes, I think Miss Jodariel is content knowing we’re safe and happy, even if she cannot be here. How admirable. It is just like the Scribes: forsaking their freedom so that we can have ours.

“And I’m happy _she_ _’s_ happy, that I could make her proud.”

Another bout of silence. Ti’zo cooed and leaned into Rhae as her tears dried and the sun faded beneath the horizon. Her pulse thrummed in her skin. Every breath ebbed and flowed like the ocean’s shore. Once dusk’s cool hues seeped into the skies and lanterns flickered to life outside, Rhae stirred and stood.

“I think,” she said, “I should write a letter to her. Yes, that will be alright, won’t it?”

Ti’zo grinned. “Hree-hee-kii!”

“Would you like to help, Ti’zo?”

“Kraa-HAAH-haa-kiri!”

Rhae laughed at Ti’zo’s dramatic fluttering and chirping. “Then we shall write!”

Ti’zo helped her light the chandelier in the center of the chamber before returning to the pile of pillows. Rhae retrieved a wooden board, parchment, ink, and quills. Together they sat and bounced ideas off one another, of the events which transpired since Scribes’ Return. Ti’zo elaborated his fishing antics while also encouraging Rhae to be proud of her role as saint. Rhae wrote, a careful light hand dancing fluidly across the parchment to scribe each word. Sometimes she crumpled the page and tossed it. Other times, she broke a quill or spilled excess ink across the page. After a dozen attempts, they crafted a letter worthy of their exploits.

Ti’zo promised to deliver it to the messenger-imps. Rhae also promised to visit his quarters to share whatever was left of the titan tuna. All of it could wait, though, as the two curled into one another and fell asleep on plush pillows, as if they had never left the blackwagon.

As if they had never left each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Among her friends, she always remained close with Ti’zo, who, more so than anyone, could always make her laugh. Though they could not see each other any longer, Rhae often thought about Jodariel, and spoke to her as though she were there. Rhae tried never to make a decision without first consulting her idea of what Miss Jodariel might say." —from Rhae's liberation ending
> 
> "She often felt concern for how Rhae fared, now that they were separated and could no longer see each other like before. One day, news reached her that Rhae had assumed a high position in the Eighth Word; they were calling her a saint. Jodariel had not wept in more than 30 years before then." —from Jodariel's exiled ending
> 
> A special thanks to [laughingpineapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingpineapple) for [the lovely portrayal of Rhae and Ti'zo in chapter 3!](https://laughingpinecone.tumblr.com/post/640846125872676864/rhae-the-radiant-with-stars-in-her-hair)


End file.
